Guardian in the Desert
by TKeiraLea
Summary: A series of vignettes that reveal glimpses of ObiWan's time on Tatooine, in service of the memory of an old friend.
1. Not Mine

**Not Mine**

"Choy-kla!"

At the sound of Luke's earsplitting yell, Beru's gaze popped up from her stitchwork. Her instantaneous panic vanished in a heartbeat. It vanished at the sight of her little son toddling around, swiping and swatting at something only he could see. He was so beautiful in those moments, sandy hair flowing and blue eyes sparkling, that she felt a place deep inside swell with love as if he were her own.

A smile erupted on her face, and a giggle followed. A giggle with two echoes. Around the quilt, her girlfriends Redya and Aleon were just as amused by Luke's merry antics. They joined her laughter until it became a bubbling chorus.

Then Redya's eyes widened, and a gasp replaced the happy sound.

Swinging her head back toward Luke, Beru's smile was chased away by a mother's fear. He had swiped again, knocking his tiny body out of equilibrium. One precarious misstep after another, the boy teetered between remaining upright and smacking the earthen floor. Hands shot out. Legs scrambled. Yet somehow Luke found his balance - before Beru could even think of extricating herself out from under the quilt. 

"Amazing," Redya whispered.

"I can't believe he didn't fall," Aleon added.

Beru said nothing. She should have known Luke wouldn't fall. He would never fall. Because her son was special. Her son - who wasn't her son, but rather the son of the greatest Jedi ever - had unique powers. If she were honest, Beru might never have to fear the obvious. Instead, she would always fear the future, the unknown. She feared Luke's destiny.

"Choy-kla!"

Luke, on the other hand, feared nothing. He resumed his hunt with carefree abandon, determined to finish his quest.

For a few more heartbeats Beru watched her son careen and leap around the sunken courtyard of their Tatooine home Satisfied he was fine, she returned to the task at hand. They needed to get this quilt finished quickly. It was only a matter of days until their friend Lapa's wedding, and this was their gift to her. So for days they had sat in the shade of the dining area, buried in the monotony of sewing.

"He must be getting bored," she wondered aloud, glancing back at Luke as he danced around in the light.

"We're almost finished." Aleon gestured to the nearly complete design.

From her spot finishing the trim, Redya nodded. "Almost." 

_"Choy-kla!"_

There was a different tone to the child's voice this time that gave Beru cause to look up once more. Luke stood in place now, utterly still, with one hand extended forward in a fist. He held it up like he was offering it to someone, someone Beru couldn't see. She was out of her seat in an instant, her corner of the quilt practically forgotten on the ground. 

"Luke?"

He walked away, still holding out his offering. "Choy-kla."

"Lu-" His name died in her throat when she saw who Luke was addressing.

Kneeling down to the toddler's height was a man hidden among the furls of a large brown cloak. The material seemed to consume him, yet he still existed within it. The cowl hid his face, but she knew exactly who he was. And her son went to him without hesitation or fear.

Luke stopped before the uninvited guest, his fist held up to the man's face. One finger after another uncurled to reveal his hidden prize. "Choy-kla."

The man chuckled softly, the sound a low melodic hum that possessed little volume yet managed to resonate everywhere. "Hello there."

Luke thrust his upturned palm at the man. "Choy-kla."

The man slowly wrapped a hand around each side of his hood, then drew it back with such deliberate efficiency the action seemed perfect. Gazing upon Luke, his bearded face knew only a smile, and his eyes twinkled with mirth. Anyone could have seen that this man loved the boy, or so Beru worried.

"Who is _that_?" Redya asked.

Aleon tipped her head closer as if to share a secret. "Isn't that the hermit who took up residence –"

"Oh-bi-en…Ben. Ben Kenobi," Beru told them brusquely. She wanted them to be quiet. Now.

Not Obi-Wan. Ben. She had to force herself to remember.

By now Ben had brought his hand out of the deep robes and held a finger up to Luke's hand. "Yes. I see. A shoikler," he pronounced in a smooth voice, which spoke of elegance and roots closer to the Core.

"I caught 'im," Luke declared.

"Good job, hmmm?" A tiny insectoid jumped onto Ben's finger and flapped its wings to celebrate a newfound freedom. He drew his finger up toward his face, then grinned at the buzzing shoikler. "You gave a good chase, my little friend."

With a flap of his hand, Ben sent the insect flying.

Grunting in protest, little Luke jumped and swiped at his prize. "Mine!"

Ben caught the boy by the arm before he could resume the chase. "No," he said firmly. "Not yours."

Beru wanted to be mad, wanted to shoo this man away. She wanted to tell him to leave her son alone. But in the end, they needed him. Luke needed him. She listened as the lonely man from the desert, their benefactor and Luke's protector, explained to the boy about the value of all life, how no individual was more important than another, not even an insect like the tiny shoikler. That no living thing could ever be truly possessed. And Luke simply listened, entranced by the rhythmical truth-filled cadence of the man's voice.

"I could listen to that man talk all day," Redya said quite suddenly.

Aleon giggled. "It's not his voice that has you enamored, Reddie." 

Beru gawked at her friends. They had stopped sewing and sat dumbstruck, watching the man formerly known as Obi-Wan instruct Luke in one of his first lessons about the mystery called the Force. A lesson so cleverly disguised and the deeper truth so powerfully veiled that its meaning would be lost to all, even Luke. For now. There was a momentous turn of history in the making, yet all her friends saw was a mysterious handsome stranger with an intriguing accent. She couldn't help but laugh. "You two!"

Aleon shook a finger at Beru. "Don't you lecture us, Berrie. You have a wonderful husband, and now a son. Reddie and I are stuck hoping to find happiness among the dregs of Anchorhead and Mos Eisley."

Beru bit her lip. Aleon was right. To all appearances Beru had everything - and everything to lose. They would never understand; they never could. This was the price of the gift Obi-Wan Kenobi had given them. This was the price for Luke.

"I made fwend with choy-kla, Auntie." At some point Luke had dragged Ben over to table. Beru should have realized by the silly expressions blooming on her friends' faces.

"Apparently, that is not your only new friend," Beru said, indicating Ben with the shift of her eyes.

"Ben? He been my fwend fo-eb-er."

Beru exchanged a knowing look with the lonely Jedi and found longing intermixed with hope. She turned back to the boy and forced a smile. "You have lots of friends, don't you?" 

"Uh-huh." Luke nodded. "I tink I wanna show Ben my mousedwoid."

"Luke, wait for –" Beru started to call after the boy as he scampered away up the stairs, but she recognized the futility of the effort.

She was about to chase after him when a comforting palm stayed her. "He'll be fine."

Beru met Ben's guarded stare. "The Tuskens?" The raids had been brutal recently, and closer than ever.

"Gone. That is why I came by today." His eyes pierced her with truth. "You have no more reason to worry." 

"You chased them away?" Aleon exclaimed.

Ben removed his hand, tucking it into his cloak. "Perhaps you could say I… negotiated them into finding a new hunting ground." 

"Negotiated?" Aleon practically swooned over the word. "All by yourself?"

He tipped his head respectfully. "Of course. The Sand People are my speciality." 

"Spe-ci-ality?" This time it was Redya. "Where are you from? Certainly not from around here."

He chuckled once. "I suppose not. But is anyone _really_ from Tatooine?"

Redya giggled, flirty and saucy, as she tipped her head back. "No. Or at least no one I know would care to admit it."

Beru rolled her eyes, but even as she did she recognized discomfort coloring Ben's face. He stepped back and bowed respectfully. The robes once more were the man, and Obi-Wan Kenobi disappeared behind an emotionless mask.

"I should be going, then."

"Must you?" Redya asked. 

The corner of his mouth curled upwards. "I must." 

With a graceful whirl Ben turned on his heel and headed for the stairs. Inexplicably, Beru found herself chasing him. "Wait." 

Ben stopped on the steps, and faced her. "Yes, Beru?" 

"Will you send Luke down…before you leave?"

"Of course."

"His mouse droid is – "

"In the garage," Ben finished. "He returns with it now." 

Beru blushed. He would know; he would always know. "He likes to fix things. He fixed that silly droid all on his own, at only five. I imagine he gets that from his father…"

She left the rest unsaid as sadness rolled across Obi-Wan's face. Beru wondered often – about Anakin and Padmé, Luke's mother and father. Obi-Wan had brought Luke to the homestead five years before. A tiny infant swaddled in Jedi robes. Those had been the darkest hours of the galaxy, and as much as she had needed to know, Beru hadn't asked. The haunted look in Obi-Wan's eyes even now told her perhaps she would never want to know. Anakin had been a Jedi, and the Jedi were no more. Save one. And she would no more forsake him, than forsake her son.

Obi-Wan pulled up the cowl of his cloak so his expression was hidden. "Always fixing things. Perhaps more like his mother in that way."

"Ben?" Luke's voice called from above.

The flash of a toothy grin beamed from the shadow of the Ben's hood. "Always on the move." He spun and bounded up the steps. Luke appeared in the arched portal, the mouse droid in his hands. Ben scooped the boy into his arms, and the two friends grinned at each other.

Beru felt Redya and Aleon at her sides. Together they watched Ben walk away with Luke.

"What an odd man," Redya said. 

"Not odd." Aleon sighed. "Just… different." 

Beru wrapped an arm around each of her friends. "No. A very dear man." She left the rest unsaid. _A friend with no friends. The last of a dying breed. A hero._


	2. Hidden Treasures

**Hidden Treasures**

"Biggs, Tank, come on!"

A second later three boys were shuffling up the stairs. From his seat in the kitchen area, Owen watched as one boy practically toppled the other in an effort to reach the great outdoors. Not that there was much to see but an endless plain of desert stretching in every direction. Still, boys had a way of making an adventure out of nothing, even in the desolate reaches of a forsaken planet like Tatooine.

"It's getting toward sunset," Beru noted as she placed a handful of vegetables in the evaporator.

Owen shut his eyes and inhaled. What was left unsaid gave him a reason to pause. Yes, the sun was setting; it was the fact that the boys were playing outside, while the sun was setting, that meant anything and everything.

Opening his eyes, Owen kicked his chair back and rose with a slow stretch to absorb the kinks of a long day. "I'll be up top," he said, then remembered to smile.

Beru simply kept about her food preparations, offering him a happy grin in return. She was so beautiful when she smiled, and so happy to have Luke. The boy meant everything to her, and Owen felt no less affection toward the child. He just worried…

His wearied legs became heavier with each step up, the effort of a day's hard work taking its toll – until the unadulterated laughter of three boys caught his attention. Owen jogged the rest of the way, slowing only when he caught sight of the children at play.

"Stop! Stop!" Luke shrieked.

And rightfully so, as Tank wrestled the slim boy to the ground. Biggs merely jumped around, cheering the unofficial contestants on. For an instant, Owen considered intervening. Then he remembered that life was a harsh reality. No one would ultimately be able to save Luke from his fate.

Right as that thought wrenched his moisture farmer's simple sensibilities into a knot, Luke managed to give him hope. The boy twisted, maneuvering his body in an uncanny way. Suddenly, Luke was on top with Tank pinned beneath him.

"Beat you!" Luke exclaimed, jumping up and down victoriously.

"Did not!" Tank protested.

"He did too!" Biggs insisted.

Suddenly outnumbered and apparently defeated, Tank puffed his plump torso. "That's 'cuz Luke moves like a Yando worm. So slippery and wiggly no one could hold onto him."

Biggs broke into a round of guffaws, and Luke's victory dance stalled in righteous indignation.

"Luke's a worm," Biggs snickered.

"A wormie worm," Tank embellished.

With that, the battle was back on. Owen stepped forward, meaning to break up the scuffle, until he realized there was more play than punishment involved. The tumbling melodrama continued for only as long as a trio of boys' attention spans lasted, then they separated and rallied into the next game.

Owen might have watched their antics forever, but his ever-wary mind sent a niggling urge that had to be heeded. Something in the red and orange blush of the twin suns' dying throes had caught his eye. To get a better view, he moved to the lip of the desert dune that jutted up to the homestead's edge.

Planting one leg up on the dune, Owen squinted. He assessed an indeterminate outline blurred by the heat of the day stored in the desert sand now rising into the early evening air. Not that he didn't already know who it was. Only one man would be foolish enough to brave a trek across the desert at this time of day. Only one man could dare such a feat.

Tatooine was rife with danger. If the sun didn't suck the life out of a person, the Sand People would. And those were just the immediate and prevalent threats. Still, Owen had to admit that the Tusken Raiders were seldom seen in these parts, certainly not like back in the days when Shmi had been stolen from them. No matter, not even one second's lapse was worth the price they had paid, and Owen made himself check the horizon once more.

Jedi or no Jedi, the safety of his family was ultimately Owen's responsibility.

Soon enough the former Jedi General, the war hero turned enemy of the Empire, climbed the small rise of dune, only stopping his deliberate march once he stood before Owen. "Good day for a walk," Obi-Wan said with a wry smile.

Owen regarded the heat waves billowing off the sands behind Ben. "Only if you favor a walk through hell."

There was a momentary flicker in the Jedi's blue eyes, then all Owen noticed was a few more wrinkles at their edge. "Ah. I have been to what some might call hell." He rubbed his beard. "I would favor here."

The words came out like a kindly adage, but there were layers of truth and pain that rolled through the air with them. Owen found no words of his own in reply. He simply stared at Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and watched him disappear into the façade that was now the veteran warrior's life.

Ben tucked his free hand back into the folds of his brown robes, and stepped to one side. With a dip of his head, he indicated the commotion of the three boys. "Luke is making friends."

Owen pivoted and matched step with Ben as he drifted in the boy's direction. "He has a few. It's hard out here."

"It is hard for any Force-sensitive child to relate. Young ones are so intolerant of differences once they notice."

Owen drew up. "No one notices."

Slowly, the Jedi turned. "For now."

"You listen," Owen said, crossing his arms. "No one wants to protect that boy more than I do. He means everything in the world to Beru and I –"

"Of that I have no doubt." Obi-Wan held up a palm, then returned it calmly to the folds of his robes. "Perhaps if I were allowed to work with Luke, he would be better able to control –"

"No." Owen shook his head emphatically.

"But –"

"No," Owen said, louder this time. "Luke is _not_ going to be sucked into your Jedi games. The same games that got his fath–"

"Ben!"

Luke's excited call ended Owen's tirade before it had even begun. Both men turned to greet the thunder of six tiny feet scrambling over the hardened desert floor.

"Ben," Luke gasped as he slid to a stop with Tank and Biggs ending on either side. "Wha…what are you doing here?"

Obi-Wan kneeled so he was at the boy's eye level. "I heard a rumor it was your life day."

"You did?" Luke practically floated off his toes. "Where?"

Scanning the sky for nothing in particular, Ben mulled over an answer. "Here. There. Anchorhead perhaps, or –"

"You ain't never been to Anchorhead," Tank interjected.

Luke rounded on his pudgy friend. "Don't talk to Ben that way. He's been lots of places."

Tank eyed the robed stranger. "My pa says you don't ever leave that shack of yours across the Dune Sea."

"Ben's been places way better than Anchorhead," Luke said. "I heard Aunt Beru and her friends talking about it."

Tank and Biggs scrutinized the hermit warily.

Ben simply chuckled, placing a palm on Luke's defiant shoulders. "A man has got to eat, hmmm?"

His friends seemed unimpressed, but Luke hung on every word. By the look on the boy's face, Ben's answer had inspired an idea. "Can you stay for dinner?" Luke spurted out. "Aunt Beru's making Bantha burgers and blue milk cake."

Ben rose abruptly, and Owen caught a look in his eyes – wanting or wistfulness, he wasn't sure. "I am sure your Aunt doesn't need the extra burden. I…only stopped by to bring you a present and wish you well on your life day."

From under his heavy robes, Ben withdrew a parcel wrapped in plain muslin and tied neatly with a cord. The invitation was all but forgotten as Luke snatched the gift out of Ben's outstretched hand.

"Can I open it?"

A tip of the robed head was all the approval Luke needed. Biggs and Tank practically helped tear off the wrapping with their enthusiastic dance of anticipation, barely giving Luke a chance to unwind the weathered cord.

"Come on, Wormie."

"Let's see."

"I'm hurrying," Luke muttered as the last of the covering fell loose.

Silence was all that was left once the surprise was revealed. For the boys it might have been a pause of disappointment, but for Owen it was stunned appreciation. In Luke's hands was a work of art no child should be allowed to hold – a rectangular box carved from dunewood in a manner that practically gave life to the natural flow of the grain. At first glance, Owen noted swirling patterns, but closer scrutiny revealed intricate details that seemed to crawl from the dunewood itself. A nexu head. A shaak's profile. A running tuskcat. A wuicka, a shoikler, even a rare llok.

The Jedi had waited patiently, without a sound, until Luke looked up from his present. Ben rubbed his beard, then crossed his arms. "When I was a pa– when I was a boy I had a similar treasure box."

"Treasure?" the three boys repeated in unison.

Ben offered his ward a rare smile. "Hidden inside are many unseen treasures. Every one is better than the next. The path to each is a series of puzzles…"

He bent down and slid a pair of the inlaid wood pieces, revealing a button. With an encouraging nod, Ben urged Luke to give it a push. Curiosity made the boy move quickly, and an instant later a latch swung open to reveal a concealed compartment.

Luke swung the treasure box so he could peer inside. "Whoa! Jawabreakers!"

The three boys had snatched one of the large spherical candies each before he could finish, popping them into their mouths. Three satisfied smiles erupted once their tastebuds were greeted by the sweet flavor.

"Dat's nead," Tank exclaimed, grabbing for the box.

"Mnn!" With lightning fast reflexes, Luke jerked it away.

Soon the three friends were off on a wild romp, with Luke juking and weaving across the desert sand bed, his box of hidden treasures in hand, while Tank and Biggs gave chase. Somehow, Luke always managed to squirm his way free – a slip one time, a duck next. It was like the boy just knew…

Owen watched long enough to realize the Jedi's stare was penetrating the side of his head. Turning to meet the blue-eyed gaze, Owen caught the arch of an eyebrow that said, _He is special, and there is no point in avoiding the truth._

Only the fact that Obi-Wan had brought Luke into their lives kept Owen from hating him outright in that moment. And somehow Obi-Wan knew that too.

Looking away, Owen surveyed the reddening horizon as the first of the twin suns sank into night. "You'd best be getting back. It's a long dangerous trip across the Jundland Wastes this time of night."


	3. Forged

**Luke – Age 7**

Forged

_Fire consumed him. _

Angry gases burned his lungs. Heat singed his brows. Reds and oranges tortured his arid eyes. It hurt to exist, let alone endure. 

Dodging clods of flaming rock, he recalled a story told by a friend, a legend about the layers of the Corellian hells, each worse than the last. He was sure he had dropped straight to the bottom, where skin melted and hair fried. But he couldn't even suffer for it or the darkness would catch him.

The darkness. The dark thing. A creature. An abomination forged in some diabolical inferno. It pursued him, hungrier than the flames licking at his boots. It swiped and kicked and clawed unrelentingly. He could not yield to its power. Defeat was not an option.

He parried and blocked, countered and feinted with the dark. A deadly dance no one would win. With a crash of his sword he battered the night, knocking it back. He scrambled away, the quaking ground giving him no purchase. Climbing higher, he glimpsed possible fortune. Hope. An end.

"Don't do it," he said.

"I have grown more powerful than even you can imagine," the darkness told him.

Even the dark fears the light. Burn bright. _He let in the Force. Hell had no hold over him. The darkness leapt, wanting to steal his very soul. The light pierced the night; there was nothing else it could do._

Mortal and wounded, lying on the burning blanket of scree, what was once a knight tumbled down. Another level. Only now had Hell shown its true face. Worse than the unimaginable. A brother lost, a friendship torn asunder, when the only right choice was wrong.

Now the mutilated fiend was dying, and hated his brother for it.

How had it come to this?

There was no salvation here, only ashes and molten rock to pass judgment on the course of a life. He wanted to hate the abomination for leading him to this place, where being right was so utterly wrong. He ached to scream his sorrow into this bellowing, belching noxious world.

But all he could do was watch. The darkness refused to die. Struggling against the slope, clawing the volcanic gravel, it strained to rise. Desperate and fearful. Despair. Hopelessness. The power which gave him life - born of fire - could take it away. Even the cleaved limbs refused to surrender to the lava.

Horrified, he watched as the man, what was left him, writhed away from the river of fire in a futile struggle. Hell was not a place to be shaken. A soul sold could not be stolen back. Flames with a ravenous appetite licked at the stumps, and the more the darkness thrashed the more the flames danced with glee, until the remnant erupted in a ball of fire stoked by the madness of hate.

A scream unlike any other, full of bitter rage, washed across him like a hot wave. He averted his eyes; he couldn't watch.

A chorus of cries pierced the night, multiple voices all in a discordant dirge with the dying gasps. He had no choice but to look. His brother was no more, but the stumps…

The two legs. They were no longer legs, but shadowy human forms clawing at the bank, howling in agony. One a woman, the other a man. And the arm…It was a distinct form, smaller, human. A child. It lifted its head to reveal a pair of cool blue eyes boiling amidst the depths of this hell.

"Be-en," the child croaked. "Help me."

Obi-Wan woke with a jolt. He panted, drawing sense back to his scorched psyche. Drenched with sweat, his nightshirt clung to him in the desert's cool evening air. He shivered, but not from the chill.

What had he dreamed?

Had he dreamed?

_"All dreams pass in time, Anakin." _

"Not mine, Master. Not mine."

How many times had they had that conversation? He had forgotten. No, he had chosen to not remember, just like he had not thought of that place in quite some time. He had not allowed himself to think of Mustafar for one reason alone - Jedi did not regret.

Swinging off his cot, he settled his feet to the dirt floor, then reminded his lungs to breathe. The unsettled knot in his gut refused to surrender to his Jedi skills, however, niggling deeper and more forcefully than before. At times like these, only familiar patterns would banish the ache of pain-filled memories. He rose, determined to ward off this angst.

Obi-Wan had paced two silent steps across the earthen floor when he realized his dream was not a dream.

Fire! On the horizon, where ordinarily the black blanket of night caressed the sleepy dunes, reds and oranges washed out the evening stars. Often fire was the friend of the desert traveler, warding off predators, natural and otherwise. But it was also the most dangerous of allies, for just as its light was a haven of safety so too was its heat a dreaded foe. Once fire struck, it had few enemies in the desert. Water was precious, limited and sparse. Fire in the desert was ravenous.

Throwing on his tunic and pants, Obi-Wan dared not imagine what fed the beast dancing in the night sky. But no matter how much he refused to let his thoughts wander, the image of the little boy had been branded across his soul.

_"Ben. Save me."_

He ran barefoot across the gritty sea. The night was cool, but the sand burned. His heart was ablaze. He ran as hard as his body would allow, then faster. He was a Jedi; he knew not fear. He had the Force.

Crossing the swell of dunes, all doubt left his mind. The Lars homestead was burning. He had walked this way so many times even his bones knew the direction. As the central domed structure began to take shape like a fiery half-sun, Obi-Wan's thoughts raced. How could this have come to pass?

Hadn't he marked the homestead as an unholy land to the Tuskens? Their banthas bolted and anoobas whimpered at a half kilometer. Even the feral sandpanthers steered clear of the moisture farm. Hadn't he taken every precaution?

It was never enough.

"Luke!" he cried into the thundering flames, stumbling bloody-footed and wheezing for breath. He sucked in a waft of smoke and coughed. "Luke!"

A sooty head burst from the main structure's entrance. Between the black plumes and bright flames, it was impossible to make out a face. Obi-Wan did recognize the broad shoulders of a man, and something in his arms. Owen stumbled on the stairs, dropping his burden. Hacking on the smoldering air, two people, a man and a woman, clawed out of the dome.

Obi-Wan reached Beru first. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her clear of the carnage, then laid her on the barren ground. Her porcelain face was hidden behind a mask of ash, except where tears streaked in rivers of grey.

"Luu," she whispered.

Obi-Wan felt as desperate as she sounded. He laid a palm on her forehead and eased her burning lungs. "Where is he, Beru?"

She tried to speak, but the best she could manage was a moan strangled by fouled airways. A new wash of tears uttered her frustration. Unwilling to give up, her finger slowly pointed back into the hellish hole.

"In-side." A shaky hand gripped Obi-Wan's shoulder, taking support in his strength. He glanced up to meet Owen's fearful gaze. "Luke's…inside."

There was no hesitation, no respect for Beru, as Obi-Wan deposited her in the sand. He had one goal, one mission. He could not fail. Haunted by nightmarish memories of a lava-encrusted planet and his baptism in hell, Obi-Wan plunged into the fire's belching mouth.

Immediately blinded by the raw heat, he tumbled down the stairs, only a brief glimpse from the Force giving the Jedi enough sense to land upright. He was knocked to his knees a second later when another body crashed into him from above.

With an unforgiving tug, Obi-Wan yanked the man to his feet. "Owen, go back!"

"No." The farmer's eyes were as determined as the Jedi's. Without discussion, he brushed past. "This way."

Owen leapt over what had been the kitchen table and disappeared behind a wall of fire. Left with no choice, Obi-Wan followed. What should have been a ten second walk toward the bedroom units seemed an eternity. Falling embers. Crashing sections of ceiling. Conflagration everywhere the eye turned. Heat, so much heat.

The fire gnawed at everything, leaving ash in its wake, but not the toppled wall that stood between the men and their charge.

Owen beat his fists on the mortar and stone. "Nooo!"

"We have… to push!" Obi-Wan's lungs were starved for air, and the simple act of yelling winded him immensely.

Owen hacked into his sleeve and nodded. Quickly the men sized up the best direction and angle. They took positions, bore down with legs and backs, and heaved. The farmer howled; the Jedi made no sound. Neither was less determined. Obi-Wan summoned the power of the Force into his core and coursed it through his straining muscles.

_Do or do not. There is no try._

The wall began to give - a little at first, unremarkable to someone not in tune with the Force. Then micrometers turned into millimeters, and Owen's eyes flashed wide with hope. With a defiant roar, the farmer found new strength. Obi-Wan had heard tales of men performing feats of unimaginable strength in the face of danger. As the wall faltered under their combined drive, he was certain he had witnessed just that.

The wall fell.

Excitement bursting inside Obi-Wan's very being twisted into alarm. A beam above cracked. His lightsaber slapped into his palm, swinging up, igniting, barely slicing the heavy wood in two before it crushed them. Soon enough to save their lives, but late enough that his hand bore the brunt of the blow.

The lightsaber skittered out of his grasp. Gone. Lost to the fire. 

Using his sense of the weapon, the Jedi stretched out to take back his one constant companion, but the fire would have none of it. Like tendrils off a dying supernova, the flames warned him away. A hand on his tunic reminded Obi-Wan of his objective. He turned, snorting in frustration, and ran into the bedroom unit.

"Luke!"   
"Son!"

The men shouted into the hazy gloom, lit only by the inferno beyond. Obi-Wan didn't need a response. He could feel the unmitigated terror emanating from the far corner of the room. Sprinting in the boy's direction, he found Luke huddled between the bed and the wall. The handwoven bedcovering was beginning to smolder as Obi-Wan plucked the boy from his prison.

"Don't fear, Luke," he said when the child took a crushing hold around his neck. Luke instantly relaxed into the comforting wave the Jedi sent through the Force. Owen rushed to their side.

"He's all right," Obi-Wan assured him.

Their time was waning, however, and none of them would be safe soon enough. Obi-Wan clutched Luke to his body and nudged past Owen. He didn't get far. The fire had herded them into this dungeon and had come to claim its prize. The farmer bounced off Obi-Wan's back, then cursed at the sight of their predicament. Their exit was blocked. Obi-Wan felt no fear; for a Jedi there was always another way. He reached for his lightsaber – 

"Blast!"

Panic began to seep into his heart. Obi-Wan shut his eyes and willed his pounding heart still. For a moment, amidst Owen's crazed shouting and Luke's fearful sobbing, life paused while he took a deep clearing breath. As always, clarity returned in a burst of renewed hope. Obi-Wan snapped his eyes over to meet the boy's worried gaze.

"The box? Where is the treasure box?"

Luke blinked and Owen bellowed, "You're worried about a –" The rest was lost to the wracking of his lungs.

"The box, young one." Obi-Wan inflected the power of the Force into the request, demanding Luke answer. _It's here. It has to be._

The boy barely had begun to point when Owen snatched him from the Jedi's arms. "You crazy fool!" 

Relieved of his burden, Obi-Wan sprinted in the direction Luke indicated, a small nook of the room. Like a long lost familiar companion, he could sense it now, the touch and memories that were his old friend. Wading into the pile of toys, Obi-Wan found it even with his eyes misting from the smoke-laden air.

Dropping to his knees, Obi-Wan placed the carved treasure chest in his lap. 

"We're going to die –" Cough. "- and you want to save that stupid toy?"

"Not a toy," Obi-Wan muttered, his eyes scrutinizing the box. Luke already had managed to open the third level, quite a feat for a child with no formal training. Padawans at the Temple would struggle for years to unlock the secrets to these hidden treasure boxes. Every layer opened indicated a new understanding of the Force. Anakin, he remembered fondly, had opened his completely in less than a standard week. 

With a tap of his mind, Obi-Wan manipulated the final sequence of latches. The box's sides flopped open to reveal the central chamber. Inside rested what remained of a lost Jedi. After fleeing Mustafar, Obi-Wan had pondered why the Force had compelled him to pick up Anakin's weapon. Even as he had lovingly carved the treasure box, he had never found a satisfactory answer.

Until now.

Owen had stalked the room, seeking another route out, before returning to hover over the Jedi. Obi-Wan could feel the rage boiling off the man at the sight of the weapon, but he didn't utter a sound. As Owen clutched Luke to him, Obi-Wan unscrewed the weapon's shaft to reveal the inner workings. His fingers flew as he returned the weapon to working condition. The crystal reversed. Power core actuated. Wiring connected. He closed the housing, laid the weapon in his lap, and dropped instantaneously into a meditative trance.

The Force was eager to accept him into its comforting fold.

_"This weapon is your life."_

"I'm sorry, Master. I'll try harder."

"Don't be sorry, Anakin. Do the right thing."

"I will, Master."

With a flick of his thumb, the lightsaber of Anakin Skywalker thrummed to life. Obi-Wan leapt to his feet, thrusting the shimmering blade into the wall. He funneled the Force into the weapon, feeding it the energy to disintegrate the most durable of Tatooine mortar and clay. 

The fire chomping at their backs, Owen crowded as close as he dared. Sweat poured off the Jedi's brow and sizzled as it hit the floor. The heat – even in his dreams Mustafar seemed like a day at the Naboo lakeside in comparison to this – was unbearable. Breathable air was nowhere to be found.

Luke cried out from the sensation of being cooked alive. In that same instant, the wall caved to the weapon's onslaught and collapsed into the desert night. Fresh air swept in, a relief until the flames danced higher in welcome to the new fuel.

"Out! Out!" Obi-Wan ordered, snapping the lightsaber to his belt.

He grabbed Luke and tossed him through the opening. Snatching Owen's shirt, Obi-Wan added the strength of the Force to his efforts and shoved the farmer through next. He jumped after, rolling into the sand. Flat on his back and panting, he gazed at the angry night sky.

Only then did Obi-Wan allow himself the luxury of a moment to analyze his predicament. His feet throbbed. His arms stung. His eyes burned. His throat ached. But the sand was cool and the night breeze whisked the sweat from his overheated body. He shivered.

"Luke! Luke!" Beru scrambled around the remains of the burning homestead. She caught sight of the boy and her husband, then crashed into them.

Obi-Wan watched the family unite. A home had been lost, but none of that mattered as they hugged and kissed. They rejoiced to be whole once more.

Obi-Wan reached down and patted the lightsaber that lay at his side. "For you, old friend. For you."


End file.
